Percival adjusted the microphone, lowering it slightly. He then glanced down at the complex pedalboard left on the stage from Lorin's performance, a tangle of cables and glowing lights. With a casual nudge of his foot, he slid it away, clearing the space around him.
A murmur went through the musicians in the crowd. Lorin had used the pedalboard extensively, layering synth effects and bass loops to fill out his sound. Was this newcomer really going to perform with just a single, unamplified acoustic guitar? Even Lorin looked surprised, a flicker of confusion crossing his confident smirk.
[The Beatles – Yesterday]
Percival cleared his throat softly, the sound barely audible in the suddenly silent hall. His thumb found the root note, an F. His fingers followed, plucking the simple chord. The sound was dry, woody, and incredibly close. They could hear the faint zip of his calloused fingertip sliding on the string as he moved to the next chord, an E minor. It was not a mistake; it was the sound of a human hand moving, the sound of thought made audible.
Then, he began to sing. His voice was quiet, not projected for a stadium, but drawn inward, for this room, for this moment. The guitar was the only other presence, its simple, plucked harmony a fragile floor for the melody to walk on.
"Yesterday..."
"...all my troubles seemed so far away."
The feeling was one of aching, immediate nostalgia. This was not a fond memory of a distant, golden past. This was the painful, raw memory of the day before everything went wrong. The past was so close, he could still smell it.
"Now it looks as though they're here to stay..."
The feeling was heavy, sudden permanence. The joy was gone, and the grey reality had settled in like a shroud.
"Oh, I believe... in yesterday."
This was not a statement of faith. It was a desperate, almost childlike denial, a refusal to accept the harshness of the present. Gil Nothos leaned forward slightly, his professional curiosity replaced by a sharp, analytical focus.
"Suddenly... I'm not half the man I used to be."
The feeling was one of profound diminishment. This was not just sadness; it was a loss of self, a hollowing out of identity. Briane, watching from the side, felt an unexpected pang of empathy.
"There's a shadow... hanging over me."
Omnipresent, formless dread. This was not a specific, identifiable pain that could be confronted. It was a suffocating atmosphere.
"Oh, yesterday... came suddenly."
Pure, disorienting shock. The repetition of 'suddenly' was the sound of a man blindsided, struck from an angle he never saw coming. With just these few lines, Dorian had completely shifted the energy in the room. The glittering, boisterous gala hall had vanished. They were no longer at a party. They were in a small, dimly-lit room, sitting on the floor, while a friend sat on the edge of the bed, turning his grief over and over in his hands.
His hand shifted position on the guitar neck. The chords changed, becoming a searching, unresolved loop.
"Why she... had to go, I don't know... she wouldn't say."
Here, the feeling was frustrated, agonizing incomprehension. This was the torture of the unknown. The loss was compounded by the lack of reason. Rita Bralare closed her eyes, a flicker of ancient pain crossing her icy features.
"I said... something wrong... now I long... for yesterday."
Helpless, self-lacerating guilt. The endless loop of "what ifs."
"Yesterday... love was such an easy game to play."
Bitter, newfound wisdom. This was the sound of innocence lost, of realizing the rules had changed when it was already too late.
"Now I need a place... to hide away."
Raw vulnerability. The world, which was once "easy," was now perceived as hostile and dangerous. He was exposed, wounded, and had no more defenses. Lorin's confident smirk had vanished, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief.
"Oh, I believe... in yesterday."
This final repetition was the most tragic line in the song. The feeling was one of hopeless resignation. He was clinging to a past that was already gone, because the present was simply too unbearable to face.
Percival's hand formed the final F major chord. He plucked it once, letting the simple, pure sound hang in the air. And then, he simply lifted his fingers from the strings, silencing the instrument.
He opened his eyes, hidden behind the mask. What he saw was silence. A profound, stunned silence that was heavier than any applause. He saw awe on some faces. He saw a cold, sharp jealousy on others. He saw fear. He saw the look of people who had just witnessed something ancient and powerful, something beautiful and terrifying, hatch right before their eyes.
Dorian shifted awkwardly on the small stage. He was not hallucinating. These people, these galactic celebrities and music industry veterans, were genuinely frozen in place, their expressions a mixture of shock, awe, and something that looked unsettlingly like fear.
A sharp, incredulous scoff cut through the profound silence. It came from Rita. Her icy composure had cracked, revealing a flicker of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
That single sound was enough to break the spell. Gil Nothos, as if waking from a trance, began to applaud. Not the thunderous ovation from before, but a slow, deliberate, deeply respectful clap. One by one, the others joined in, the sound growing into a wave, but it lacked the joyous energy of Lorin's applause. This was different. This was reverence.
Briane, ever the professional, tried to salvage the situation, stepping back onto the makeshift stage. "Right!" she said, her voice a little too loud, a little too bright. "Give it up for Percival, everybody!" The applause continued, but it felt forced now. "Now! The moment you have all been waiting for! The vote!"
Lorin, who had been standing frozen by the side of the stage, finally moved. "No," he whispered, his voice hollow. "How...?" The question felt empty, rhetorical.
Dorian, buoyed by the alcohol he was not used to and the adrenaline of the performance, answered honestly. Too honestly. "I mean," he said, shrugging slightly behind his mask, "these things are not really that complicated, you know?"
Lorin stared at him, his face a mask of utter disbelief, as if Dorian had just casually explained how to reverse entropy. He scoffed again, a broken, bitter sound. "I... I... I think it is late already," he stammered. "Thank you." He turned and walked away, not just from the stage, but seemingly from the entire party, his shoulders slumped, leaving half his soul behind. He looked more hollow than any husk one could imagine.
The other singers in the crowd understood instantly. They saw the chasm that had just opened up between their world of crafted hits and whatever dimension Percival had just channeled his music from. If they had been in Lorin's shoes, would they even have been able to say 'thank you'?
Gil clapped his hands together, his voice regaining its command. "Alright, everyone! The morning is almost here on Sela. Let's pack up, finish our conversations, and all go back home!"
There was a collective murmur of agreement. The competition, which had started as a drunken lark, had ended as a deeply reflective, almost sobering experience for these jaded celebrities.
Briane walked over to Dorian, her usual bright energy replaced by a quiet concern. "Composer? Are you alright?"
Dorian placed the guitar back on its stand and leaned heavily against the microphone stand. "Why," he slurred slightly, "is the venue swinging?"
Briane sighed. "Okay, you are drunk."
Ratik appeared at Dorian's side as if summoned, the ever-dutiful butler. She swiftly assessed the situation. "Allow me, Miss Taleini," she said, gently taking Dorian's arm. "Let me get him home. You can pack up."
"Thank you," Briane said, relieved.
Ratik supported Dorian, draping one of his arms over her shoulder. As they walked towards the exit, Gil approached Juno, who had been watching the scene unfold with a worried frown.
"Will he be alright?" Gil asked, his voice low.
Juno watched Ratik carefully guide the unsteady, masked composer out of the hall. "I have never seen Dorian drink before," she said softly. "It is the first time I have ever seen him drunk."
…
Dorian opened his eyes. The noon sun of Sela was a blinding, painful reality, held back only partially by the thick curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows of his room. He blinked, and a sharp, pulsing pang shot through his skull. He forced himself to sit up, and a wave of nausea churned violently in his stomach. His heart began to beat rapidly, erratically.
He scrambled out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom just as the first wave hit him. He collapsed in front of the toilet and began to vomit, the retching echoing painfully in the pristine, marble-lined space. The first hangover of his life.
He broke away, gasping for air, resting his sweaty forehead on the cool porcelain of the toilet seat. He groaned, a low, miserable sound. Just then, he heard a soft, polite knock on his bedroom door. He could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears, but he managed to croak out, "Come in."
It was Ratik. She stood in the doorway, holding a small vial of clear liquid, her expression one of calm, professional sympathy. "I have brought you a hangover cure, Composer," she said, her voice a soft murmur. "It would be better if you let it all out first, then drink this. It will help, but eating is still a must."
Dorian just managed a weak thumbs-up and rested his head back on the toilet seat. He caught a whiff of his own vomit, and the smell triggered another violent wave of nausea. He continued vomiting, utterly miserable. Ratik just stood patiently outside the bathroom door, waiting.
…
Meanwhile, in the distant, war-torn Outer Rims...
Gale Amanar sat hunched inside the cramped confines of a Legion transport ship, the metal hull vibrating around him. The ship's comm unit was active, patching in the chaotic audio feed from the ongoing pacification operation outside. A flashing red light pulsed on the console, accompanied by the amplified, distorted screams of the planet's native inhabitants, punctuated by the sharp crackle of Accord Radiant Carbine fire.
The sounds clawed at his mind, amplifying his own memories, the screams merging with the ghosts of past battles. He reached for the flask of heavy, illicit alcohol tucked into his gear and took a long, burning swallow. He slammed his hand down on the comm unit, silencing the horrific feed.
He drank again, the harsh liquor doing little to quell the rising panic. He muttered softly, his voice trembling, "Stop... please stop." He took another drink, his eyes darting wildly around the ship's small interior. "Please stop!" He slammed his fist against his own helmeted head. "Make it stop!" Another desperate swig from the flask.
The ship's ramp lowered, and a Legion trooper stepped inside, his white armor splattered with something dark. "Captain Gale," the trooper said, his voice muffled by his helmet.
Gale looked up, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.
"We need more Solcores," the trooper stated. "We ran out of it out there." He began rummaging through the ship's onboard storage lockers. "Got any Lumen Spike Solcores?"
"I think... they are in the other ship," Gale slurred slightly.
The trooper continued searching. "Ahh, there it is," he said, pulling out a sleek, black Solcore. He turned back to Gale. "Oh, the Commander is searching for you."
"I need rest," Gale mumbled. "Just... give me several minutes."
The trooper walked over to Gale's comm unit and switched it back on. "Your comm was down, by the way," he said, oblivious.
The horrific symphony of screams and blaster fire flooded the small space once more. The trooper gave Gale a sharp salute and left the ship.
Gale sat there, frozen, the sounds washing over him. He closed his eyes, his hands trembling. He forced the sounds away, reaching desperately into his mind for something else, anything else. He found it. Pelican Town. Leah's smile. The gentle, finger-picked melody of the song that had played at their wedding. The quiet satisfaction of watering his crops. His farm, "The Respite," had truly become his only respite.
He opened his eyes. The tremor in his hands had lessened. He reached out and turned his comm unit back on, the sounds still horrific, but now distant, manageable. He stood, his resolve hardening. He walked out of the ship, into the smoke-filled air of the conquered settlement. He started moving, his boots crunching on rubble. Several steps, and he would catch up with the others.
But then, a rustle. From a pile of debris in a supposedly cleared area. There was not supposed to be anything alive there.
He slowed, instinctively on alert mode. He approached the pile cautiously, crouching low. He sensed movement, a flicker of life, from within a cluster of overturned crates and shattered furniture.
He carefully pushed aside a broken piece of plasteel.
Huddled in the small space, trembling, was a child. A little girl, no older than eight, with wide, terrified eyes and two long, dark braids. She looked exactly, impossibly, like Jas from Stardew Valley.
Gale stared, his breath catching in his throat. He lowered his weapon.
"Jas?" he whispered, the name escaping his lips before he could stop it.
The child flinched back, scrambling further into the shadows, clearly terrified of the armored giant who had just found her.
Gale slowly reached out his hand towards the terrified child huddled in the debris. "It is okay," he said softly, his voice gentle despite the harsh filter of his helmet. "I am sorry if I scared you."
Before the child could react, a harsh voice barked from behind him. "Amanar! Do not make unnecessary noise!"
Gale quickly stood and turned, snapping to attention. "Yes, Commander!"
The commander strode over, his own armor covered in dust and scorch marks. "We need you on the front lines. These primitives have a sophisticated bunker system dug in up ahead. Go assist the Weavers with breaching charges."
Gale hesitated for only a fraction of a second, his mind racing. "Go ahead, sir," he said, forcing a pained grimace onto his face. "I will catch up."
The commander stopped, his helmet tilting. "What happened?"
"I do not know," Gale lied, gesturing vaguely towards the devastation around them. "But these people... they know where it hurts us most. Psychologically." He tapped the side of his helmet.
The commander stared at him for a long moment, then seemed to understand. The mental toll on Solars was a known, if often ignored, reality. "Alright then," he said, his tone softening slightly. "You can rest. But be ready when the second wave arrives."
"Thank you, sir," Gale said, offering a crisp salute.
The commander nodded and charged back towards the front lines. Just as he left, the comm unit crackled to life again. "...found a dead end here. Approximately fifty more natives barricaded inside... Command requests orders..." There was a pause, then a cold, clipped voice replied. "Neutralize resistance. All hostiles."
Gale's blood ran cold. He turned back to the debris pile, his movements now urgent. He scooped up the small, trembling child, holding her close to his armored chest. He ran back to the transport ship, the sounds of renewed blaster fire erupting behind him.
Inside, he quickly cleared out a large, empty Solcore transport container, tossing aside the packing foam. "Stay in here," he whispered, gently placing the child inside. "I will help you." He helped her adjust, making sure she was as comfortable as possible in the cold, metal box. "Comfortable?"
The child remained silent, her wide eyes staring up at him, but he sensed she understood. He placed a water flask and a nutrient bar beside her. "The second wave of reinforcements will come soon," he promised. "Just wait here for half an hour. We will get out of this place." He carefully sealed the container, leaving a small ventilation gap, and slid it under his co-pilot seat, hidden from casual view.
…
Back on Sela...
Dorian sat at the dining table with Lyra and Marcus. For them, it was lunch. For him, still sensitive to light and sound from his first hangover, it felt like a very painful breakfast.
"Congratulations, brother!" Lyra said brightly, having already heard whispers about the concert's success.
"Yeayy! Congrats!" Marcus echoed, beaming.
Dorian managed a weak smile, the bright sunlight streaming into the room making his headache pulse. "Thank you, guys. Now, eat more."
Just then, Ratik entered the dining room, holding a small stack of papers. She placed them beside Dorian's plate. He picked them up. It was a neatly transcribed copy of the lyrics to "Yesterday."
"What is this?" he asked, confused.
"Your full rights copyright application," Ratik explained calmly. "Maestro Gil warned me that if something unexpected happened, like an impromptu performance, I should be ready. This is the song from last night. If you wish to adjust the lyrics, you can, and I will submit it to the Commons Law office immediately."
Dorian thought of the bureaucratic nightmare he had faced with "Your Song" and "Skyfall." "It will take too long," he sighed.
Ratik's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "We will help you with it. Just like with the previous song."
Dorian remembered. His copyright for "No Time To Die" had been approved in a single day, a bureaucratic miracle he had attributed to Gil's influence. He chuckled, realizing the depth of the support network he had stumbled into. "Oh, right. I forgot." He read through the lyrics, the raw emotion of the previous night still echoing faintly. "I think it is good as is. There might be changes for an official release, but I am happy with this version."
"Then let us apply for the broad-spectrum copyright form," Ratik suggested.
"That will take months," Dorian protested.
Ratik turned, her expression one of absolute, unshakeable confidence. "It will take two days."
Dorian was taken aback by her certainty. He looked at this calm, efficient woman who moved mountains behind the scenes without breaking a sweat. "Okay," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I will leave it to you."
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮: Stardwey Valley: Completed.
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Name – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)
- Merry Go Round of Life – Howl's Moving Castle (ch.25)
- Small Fragile Hearts – Victor Lundberg (ch. 27)
- Skyfall – Adele (ch. 29)
- No Time To Die – Billie Eilish (ch. 30)
- Yesterday – The Beatles (ch. 32)
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**